Fellowship
by Snownut
Summary: Dr House was a world renowned physician; he had been highly regarded in infectious disease and nephrology before he'd moved into diagnostics. To complete-hell, just to be considered for a fellowship with him... A pre-pilot speculation.
1. Chapter 1

Fellowship

Eric Foreman had always been an early riser. Despite the fact that he no longer needed to cram for exams, or even rush to class he still found himself awake just after dawn. Dressing in the silence of his apartment, he'd packed his laptop and headed out the door to the café down the street. In the pre-dawn darkness he could hear birds beginning to sing and feel the rumble of the garbage truck rumbling down the street. At the café, he ordered a chi latte and withdrew to the patio to enjoy the sunrise and the summer's warmth.

Logging in to the wi-fi network, he brought up the latest job offer he'd received from Stanford. A fellowship position under Weiss, one that he'd wanted since he'd been an undergrad. Boston. Mayo. Harvard. His offers had been enticing, offering unique opportunities for research and promising the chance of becoming active academically. While all of them sounded good, he'd had a hard time narrowing the list down. Each offer boded well for his career, but he still felt something was keenly lacking. Sooner than later, he knew, he was going to have to make a decision. If not for the good of his career, then because his lease was going to run out in a month or so. Sighing, he settled deeper into his patio chair and reached for his coffee. Staring out into the eastern sky, he shielded his eyes from the sun as it rose. He stared for an indeterminate time, so lost in thought that he jumped when his cell phone rang.

He dug it out of his laptop case and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Eric!" Masters sounded unusually excited, and Eric briefly turned the phone over to make certain of the caller's i.d.

"Hey man, what're you doing up so early?" Under normal circumstances, Masters wasn't awake before noon; even for exams, he mused wryly. Sipping at his coffee again, Eric saved his list on the screen.

"I wanted to know if you heard the news?"

"No, what?"

"Where are you?" Masters asked, and Eric realized he was nearly out of breath. "Josie's on sixth. Why?"

"Thought you might be." Masters breathed for a moment before speaking again. "We'll be right there."

Saving his work one more time, Eric looked up expectantly as Masters and Reitman bounded onto the patio and dragged iron wrought chairs over the cement to sink down beside him.

"Hey." Eric saluted them with his coffee cup, smirking slightly. "How'd you know I was here?" he asked congenially.Both men looked slightly bedraggled, like they'd run most of the way across campus. After being on-call all night long. Masters was dragging his laptop out of the case and booting it up.

"So you didn't hear?" Reitman asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

"No." Eric drained the dregs of his coffee and set the cup down, settling his dark gaze on Masters as he ran his hands nervously through his hair. He exchanged a look with Reitman, then blurted out, "Dr House is back."

"What?" Eric leaned forward as well, letting his weight rest on his elbows. "Dr Gregory House? That Dr House?" he asked, feeling the a thrill of excitement run through him. Masters was hurriedly logging on to the Hopkins website, scrolling through the students section and then clicked on a link to Princeton's website. He turned the screen so Eric could see it. Pulling it toward him, Eric studied Princeton's main page to find a press release from the university.

_The Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital is pleased to announce the return of Dr Gregory House to the diagnostics department. Dr House is world renowned for his work in the diagnostic field, in addition to his previous work in Infectious Disease and Nephrology. He has been on sabbatical following an extended leave of absence. At this time, Dr House will not be establishing an active practice, but will see patients upon referral_. The article went on, detailing House's career and several of his more notable accomplishments. Eric stopped reading, knowing most of House's career as well as he knew his own. He'd admired the man from the moment he'd first read one of his articles about the virulence of the Ebola virus.

Dr House was a world renowned physician; he held two subspecialties in infectious disease and nephrology and had been highly respected in both fields before he'd moved into diagnostics. To complete—hell, even to be considered for a fellowship under Dr House would tremendously enhance his CV. He'd be guaranteed employment just about anywhere, in any field. Dr Gregory House was revered for his ability to think outside the box. His legendary status within the medical community stemmed from his high solve rate; 97 of his patients lived. Considering that rate given that most of his patients had already been seen by countless other physicians and specialists and had been given nil for odds, Dr House's reputation was well deserved. Dr House's presence had diminished considerably within the past three years; when his own health had taken a precipitous downturn. House had suffered an infarction in his leg. He'd been rumored to have been misdiagnosed several times and ended up diagnosing his own problem moments before slipping into a coma. He apparently hadn't recovered well either; he'd shut down his practice and disappeared for almost a year and a half before returning to medicine as an editor in the occasional textbook, and there were a few articles he published. If he was returning to work, surely it was a sign that he'd improved and intended to re-open his practice. Someday.

Eric's mind was spinning. Maybe—just maybe—Dr House would consider taking fellows. Almost winded himself, Eric motioned to the laptop. "Pull up the diagnostics department page." Masters fingers edged the mouse's arrow over to the diagnostics link and brought the page up. For the first time in a long time, the department's page held updated information. Dr House's picture had been put up, and Eric studied his digitized image intently. He'd seen pictures of him once; long ago, when someone had snapped a picture of him at a medical conference. House's long, narrow face seemed thinner than before; his brilliant blue eyes seemed more sunken. He had aged perceptibly, lines of pain drawn deeply into his face. Eric sighed, studying the picture. He was not a healthy man, if his photograph was any judge of his physical state. And given that Dr House wasn't re-establishing a practice, only taking patients as they were referred to him bespoke of a chronic condition. Eric sighed as Masters returned to the diagnostics main page, which gave a brief overview of the department and detailed upcoming classes and events. So they had students of diagnostic medicine. Eric pondered that for a moment, while Masters tried the different links. Given the parameters of Dr House's return, it wasn't likely that he was actively teaching. Was he only seeing one or two patients a week? Was he writing, then? Consulting on the side for the WHO, CDC or the military? Masters gripped his arm in enthusiasm, shaking him out of his circling thoughts. The mouse's arrow hovered above a link labeled 'PostdoctoralFellowships' under Princeton Medical School.

"Yeah, man!" Eric clapped Masters on the shoulder enthusiastically. Masters clicked it, and Eric held his breath as Princeton's departmental listings popped onto the screen. Biological Chemistry and Molecular Pharmacology. Neurobiology. Pathology. Systems Biology. And then—diagnostics.

Eric read aloud; "Three postdoctoral positions are available in the department of diagnostics at the Princeton-Plansborough Teaching Hospital. Positions available to determine the nature, origin, disease associations, modes of transmission, methods of diagnosis and responses to therapy of complex infectious and non infectious diseases. The successful candidates will have a strong background in molecular biology and an ability to perform a wide range of procedures such as plasmid constructions, tissue culture, gel shifts, or yeast 1-hybrid screens. An M.D., research experience, and publications are required. Candidates specializing in neuroscience, immunology and internal medicine will be strongly considered. A 2-3 year commitment is expected, and there is a possibility for advancement and a long-term position. Please send a cover letter, CV, and names, e-mail addresses and telephone numbers of six references to ." Eric sucked in a breath as Reitman pounded him on his back.

"Dude, you should submit your CV." Masters said shakily when Eric had finished. "I'm going to. Hell, even being considered for a fellowship with House would be impressive enough." he said, echoing Eric's own thoughts from earlier. Eric said nothing as he pushed himself back into his seat stiffly, steepling his hands in thought. Reitman was beaming as he got to his feet and shuffled off into line. He returned a few minutes later with an expresso and threw himself back into the chair he'd sat in before.

"I'm going to apply, too." Reitman announced, looking smug.

"You haven't finished your residency yet." Masters pointed out. "Don't you have another year or so to go?"

"Just shows I'm on the ball."

"Or damned annoying." Eric muttered. He typed in Princeton's web address, and quickly returned to the diagnostics page to House's profile. Specialties: Diagnostics, Infectious Disease, Nephrology. Formal Education: Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore MD; under Brightman and Gilmar. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor MI; under Marzouk and Gilles. Postgraduate training: Internship, residency and Chief Medical residency (nephrology) Boston General, Boston MA. Fellowship (Infectious Disease) Stanford University, Palo Alto, CA. (Diagnostics) Duke University, Durham NC. Eric paused then, eyes flicking back up to the top of the screen. Brightman and Gilmar's names caught his eye again, and he frowned. House had gone to Hopkins, but for some inexplicable reason he'd transferred to the University of Michigan. There was something there; he knew it. Dr Gilmar had long ago taken another position at Harvard, but Dr Brightman was still a professor emeritus at Hopkins. Getting to his feet, Eric powered down his laptop and hastily began stowing it. Masters and Reitman stared at him in confusion as he zipped the bag closed and threw his empty coffee cup away.

"I gotta go." He said shortly. "Thanks for sharing that, guys. Let me know if you submit anything."

"Yeah, we will." Masters began shutting off his laptop too, and Reitman shook Eric's hand as he brushed past. "Catch you later!" Reitman called. Eric strode rapidly through the little gate on the patio, his thoughts swirling. He had to talk to Brightman about Dr House. Even if he didn't learn the reason why House had transferred to the University of Michigan; he might be able to talk his way into another reference. With the potential for intense competition for the fellowship with House; a relationship with one of the man's mentors might prove the very thing to get his foot in the door.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken him a week to schedule an appointment with Dr Brightman, and another two to meet him. Still, Dr Brightman had been one of Dr House's mentors. If Dr Brightman hadn't agreed to see him, he knew he'd have gone ahead and applied for the fellowship anyway. But it would definitely be better to have a recommendation from one of House's own mentors. In the interim, he'd fired off requests for recommendation and begun more research on House. He'd been both intrigued and disturbed by his findings. House had been fired from three hospitals. Charges had been brought against him but summarily dismissed. They'd ranged from breaking and entering to Medicare fraud. When he'd been hired by Princeton-Plainsborough he'd been six months off the job from Boston. Eric knew he probably didn't need to be employed by a hospital. He could have made a killing off writing articles and on the lecture circuit. He'd returned to work in Infectious Disease; where he'd been for three years, until the diagnostics department had been created and he'd taken charge of the program. Then, approximately seven months after that he'd suffered the infarction. In his absence, the diagnostics department had been shut down. Eric supposed there wasn't much of a department without House. He'd arrived early for his appointment with Dr Brightman; sank down in a plush chair in the Nephrology lounge and pulled out his copy of the JAMA to read while he waited. A brand-new article from Dr House was out, and he opened it eagerly.

"Gregory House." Dr Brightman sighed as he sank down in his desk chair and brushed his fingers along the desktop. Eric took a seat in the proffered chair across from him, meeting the distinguished professor's gaze steadily. "That's a name I've not heard in a long time."

"He has been on sabbatical; he probably needed a break. He'd been ill before that." Eric said, smoothing a crease in his dress pants.

"Greg House?" Dr Brightman chuckled. "No. If you knew him, you'd know he never could simply stop doing anything. If he wasn't doing anything; it was because he wasn't able to do anything. From what I heard, the infarction must have been devastating." Brightman seemed morose.

"He was a student of yours?" Eric prompted, and Brightman leaned forward to meet his gaze. Eric did his best not to flinch.

"Don't try to make small talk." Brightman smiled guilelessly, and Eric felt his respect for the man up a notch. "You heard that he's looking for fellows. You'd like a recommendation. You're not the first these past few weeks."

"Yes." Eric said calmly. "And I'd like to know why he left Hopkins to go to Michigan."

Brightman stiffened slightly, and forced himself to relax. He seemed saddened for a moment, but it passed as quickly as it had ghosted across his features.

"You are ambitious. Greg House will appreciate it." He admitted, tipping his head in absent respect. "As I never taught you myself, you'll have to leave me your CV. I plan to contact several of your professors and inquire about you." He said quietly, folding his hands in his lap. "As for his reason to leave Hopkins; you'll have to ask him yourself."

"He specialized in nephrology?" Eric asked.

"Yes. He was always interested in Infectious Disease though. Everything always comes back to the kidneys—which was why he chose to pursue nephrology." Brightman smiled then, and Eric smiled back.

"What's he like to work with?"

"Ah. You want to know his personality." Brightman smirked.

"I want to know whatever I need to know to get my CV in front of him." Eric said bluntly. Brightman laughed again, and winked at him conspiratorially.

"The Gregory House I knew was brilliant. He was relentless in the pursuit of an answer; he would stop at nothing to discover the cause of a disease. Such persistence makes him an excellent physician; however, he is not known for endearing himself to patients. Or their families. He does not waste time with social niceties." He smiled, relaxing into his chair again. "I have heard that the Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsborough has retained a lawyer and a special fund for his legal fees."

Eric raised an eyebrow; surprised. "Is he unprofessional?"

"Perhaps some might see it that way. He merely says what he thinks." Brightman chuckled. "You will always know where you stand."

"What about his work in Infectious Disease?" Eric asked congenially.

"I only know what I read. He certainly had his choice in positions when he had finished under Marzouk and Gilles."

"He would have had a choice in position almost anywhere if he had finished under you and Dr Gilmar." Eric pointed out. Brightman nodded, meeting Eric's gaze steadily. "I think I have told you everything I can about Dr House." He said calmly. "It would more than likely be beneficial for you to speak to someone who has known him more recently, should you have further questions."

Eric nodded, and got to his feet. Brightman held out a hand and Eric shook it firmly. He slid a copy of his CV onto Brightman's desk.

"I will get back to you." Brightman promised.

"Thank you." Eric left smartly; feeling both relieved and frustrated. Brightman had answered as many questions as he had raised. Brightman had said that House was known for disregarding the social niceties; he clearly had a history of it that explained why he'd been dismissed from Hopkins and three other hospitals. If he did it enough to need a legal team in place…Eric wasn't certain what that meant. He couldn't understand why a physician as skilled as Dr House would even resort to such criminal proclivities. It didn't really matter, he finally decided. Dr House was still a brilliant doctor. Eric still wanted to learn from him. He'd just need to be careful.

It wouldn't do to be considered rebellious or untoward.

Another three weeks had gone by before Eric had heard back from Dr Brightman; he'd hurriedly gathered the rest of his recommendations, resume, and CV and sent it to Dr House at Princeton-Plainsborough. Two weeks to the day he'd sent everything in, he'd been interrupted by an urgent text from Masters.

House/Fellow/Chase?

Booting up his laptop, Eric launched into his Favorites folder and opened the Diagnostics page. Dr House had hired his first fellow, a young Australian intensivist named Robert Chase. He was the son of the renowned rheumatologist Rowan Chase. If the son was half as good as his father; House's first fellow was well deserving of his position. Less than a week later, the diagnostics department hired its second fellow, Dr Allison Cameron. Cameron was an immunologist. Foreman felt his anxiety up a notch when three more weeks passed, and he hadn't heard from Princeton. Had Dr House even considered him? Or had he simply tossed out Eric's CV without reading it? No. No, he wouldn't do that. Eric was well qualified. His grades had been exemplary throughout pre-med and med school. He'd scored exceptionally high on his MCAT. He'd been first in his class at Hopkins. He had a recommendation from Dr Brightman.

Dr House was probably very busy. He'd just returned to work following a lengthy illness, and had just hired two new fellows; the department was probably receiving a lot of requests for consults. They were probably working on several cases. He was probably not able to devote a lot of time to finding fellows between cases and his publications. Eric imagined returning to work in chronic pain probably was exhausting, too. He probably went home to his family and collapsed at the end of every day. There were lots of reasons why he hadn't been called yet.

Still, Eric worried about it.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Changed the rating due to the addition of one little word. Seems silly, but better safe than sorry.

Two months had passed since he'd first read about Dr House's return to Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. Eric Foreman was stymied. He'd never been a patient man; he'd always gotten the answer he wanted within a very short time. He'd rationalized for weeks that Dr House was busy; that he was ill, tired. Maybe he'd already hired, and they hadn't changed the listing. Maybe he'd taken another sabbatical. Maybe he'd moved out of the country and was living under an assumed name in a hut while he researched the cure for Ebola.

Okay. That one didn't make much sense. The guy was in chronic pain. Huts were probably out of the question.

Still.

Sitting out on the patio at Josie's café for the fifth morning in a row, Eric listlessly finished his coffee and contemplated his next move. His lease had expired. His landlord had taken to watching his door and following him up and down the hallway haranguing him about moving out or signing a new lease. He shook his head. There was nothing for it: he'd need to take one of the other positions. But he couldn't let go of it. He'd imagined—hell, fantasized—about taking the job in Princeton. He'd built complex cases in his mind and envisioned himself running gels and debating symptoms with one of the world's top medical minds. He'd seen pride and relief—yes, relief—in Dr. House's eyes when he realized he'd hired the right fellow for the remaining position. He sighed loudly, and threw back the rest of his coffee. California, then. Marty Price had been a good guy to work for. Resuming his practice there would hardly be a step down; even if he'd detested the heat. He deleted his inbox and moved the arrow to hover over the "new" button. He paused for a moment; the arrow blinking steadily. He couldn't exactly tell what had drawn his eye—but his gaze had drifted to the seldom opened junk mail folder. There was one unread message inside. Slowly, ever so slowly, he toggled the mouse down to the Spam folder and clicked the left pad, twice. The folder opened up and Eric felt his heart nearly stop. Right at the top of the junk mail about how to enlarge his penis and how to get free tickets to a Sugar Ray concert was a message from one Gregory House, MD.

Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second before clicking on the message. It took forever to load, and Foreman balled his hands into fists and lowered his head to the smooth plastic of the table until his laptop beeped cheerfully. Lifting his eyes to the screen, he held his breath as he moved the arrow down and slowly read;

Tuesday 16 May 4:00 pm. Diagnostics, 4th floor Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. Bring only your wits. G. House MD.

Tomorrow. The sixteenth was tomorrow. When he could breathe again—which seemed a long time—he shakily reached out and minimized the message. Entering the web address by memory, he returned once more to the diagnostics page to study it once more. Dr. House's photograph was unchanged. One fellowship position remained listed. Dr. House had been interviewing candidates for five weeks. Whatever he'd been looking for, he hadn't found it yet. Resolve firming, Eric brought up another window and went looking for airfare to Princeton, New Jersey.

Rolling around on the bed, Eric squinted up to the phone as it rang shrilly. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he grabbed the phone and muttered into it; hanging up quickly. The only flight he'd been able to secure to Princeton on short notice had left at 4:30 AM. He'd stumbled into his hotel room nearly four hours later and had fallen into bed after leaving a wake up call for two the following afternoon. Grunting, he sat up and snatched the remote off the bedside table. The screen hummed to life, and he could make out the sappiness of the weather channel as he staggered into the bathroom and closed the door. An hour later, showered, shaved and dressed to the nines he'd made his way out of his hotel and down to the curb to hail a taxi. He'd no sooner settled into the vinyl seat and given directions to the hospital when his cell phone rang.

"Hello?" He held his breath expectantly as a woman's voice spoke up hesitantly.

"Could I speak to Dr. Eric Foreman?"

"Speaking." He immediately sat upright as the woman introduced herself.

"I'm Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I'm the Dean of Medicine here at Princeton-Plainsborough. I'm calling regarding your interview with Dr. House."

Eric felt his heart stop. He was canceling. He gripped the phone tightly and forced himself to speak. "Yes." He forced himself to say. "Is four o'clock still all right?"

"Yes." Dr. Cuddy said firmly. "I wanted to let you know that I will be interviewing you instead, along with a colleague of Dr. House's."

What? Eric rubbed his forehead as he struggled to wrap his mind around her revelation. Was he being politely rejected? Was Dr. House ill? His mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Dr Brightman and he realized that maybe the unthinkable had happened: had Dr. House been fired? Again?

"Not a problem." He lied smoothly; speaking before he had time to realize what he'd actually said. He paused for a minute, trying to figure out how best to ask the question on the tip of his tongue when Dr. Cuddy spoke again.

"Dr. House wanted to meet with you today." She said kindly. "Some days are better than others, I'm afraid. I'm sure you can appreciate that we have to take into consideration his physical limitations."

"Of course." Eric echoed awkwardly. Her words implied an intimacy with Dr. House that surpassed a working relationship: but he wasn't certain exactly what that meant. Did she know him well? Was she familiar with his condition? "I'll be there shortly." He promised, and fell silent when Dr. Cuddy spoke up one more time.

"You'll meet with us in my office. First floor behind the clinic."

"Great. I look forward to it." He said, but spoke aloud to no one. She'd already hung up.

The hospital was bustling when he arrived; the energy was a palpable undercurrent that sparked a flame within him. He'd always felt a kinship while working in the hospital; there was something about the drive and energy that wasn't present in any neurology clinic. The urgency with which people moved; the way they carried themselves bespoke of a potential battle being won and lost between life and death on every floor. Eric smiled, thinking of his first attending's bizarre poetic streak. He'd said that, and then burst out laughing. He'd been a great guy to work with. Stepping up to the check-in desk, he inquired about the clinic and smiled at the nurse after she gave him directions. Thanking her, he quickly moved through the corridors that led to the clinic.

At ten minutes to four, he paused outside the dean's office to straighten his tie and shift his folder from one slightly sweaty hand to the other. Standing up straight, he took the door handle into his hand and opened it. Just within the doorway was a reception desk and the young man behind the desk looked up at him expectantly.

"Dr. Foreman to see Dr. Cuddy?" Eric said, clasping his hands in front of him congenially.

"She's expecting you." He said, and motioned toward the door. Eric nodded curtly.

"Thank you." She. Not they. Whoever was assisting her in the interview wasn't in yet, then. He squared his shoulders and opened the door. Dr. Cuddy was seated behind an expansive desk, and looked up with a pleasant smile as he walked in.

"Good afternoon." She said gracefully, rising and holding out a hand. "I'm Dr. Cuddy."

"Good afternoon." He returned kindly, taking her hand briefly before releasing it. "Eric Foreman."

"Please, sit." She offered, returning to her own seat. "I apologize, we'll need to wait for Dr. Wilson—" she began, but broke off with a smile as the door opened and a man in a lab coat stepped into the room.

"Sorry I'm late." He said sheepishly. Throwing himself into a chair in front of Dr. Cuddy's desk, he held a hand out. "James Wilson."

"Eric Foreman." Eric shook his hand warmly.

"He get home okay?" Dr. Cuddy asked quietly. Eric froze, sensing the electric current that lay in the undertone of her words. Did she mean Dr. House?

"Yeah." Dr. Wilson said, and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "He'll stick with the crutches for the weekend and he should be good to go by Monday."

"ACL?" she asked, leaning back.

"No. Didn't show on the MRI. He's just sore. He'll be more comfortable at home." Dr. Wilson said. He nodded when he'd finished speaking, and Dr. Cuddy seemed to take that as her cue to start the interview. Inexplicably, she leaned over to the right and then back to center before leaping into the first question. Eric had no time to do more than observe the movement before she began.

"So," she said briskly. "you went to medical school at Johns Hopkins."

"Yes." Eric blinked, his attention fully riveted on the interview once more. He sat straight, hands in his lap. Focused, passionate and direct he gave the interview of his life. All thoughts of Dr. House had fled; he couldn't think far enough ahead of the questions to entertain any fantasies of working for the man. Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Wilson tagteamed him; asking question after question about diagnostic practices and tested him on various scenarios. Eric had felt surprised, but answered as well as he could. When they finished, he could feel sweat collecting at his hairline and inside his palms. He'd never been through such a grueling interview before, and felt relieved that they seemed to have finished with him for the time being. He wondered, idly, how the interview might have gone had Dr. House been able to attend. The questions were undoubtedly his; Eric had recognized some of the scenarios from his published journal entries.

"Thank you, Dr. Foreman. You did extremely well." Dr. Cuddy was smiling. Dr Wilson was smiling, too. Eric's own smile was forced, but he didn't trust his voice in answering.

"House," Dr. Cuddy called, and Eric felt a cold sweat wash over him when she said his name; "what did you think?"

He was on the phone? In his mind's eye, Eric remembered the way that Dr. Cuddy had leaned to the right and back again before she'd launched into her questions. She must have hit the speaker phone button. It was done now, he knew. If he'd said or hinted at anything Dr. House might not have liked it was too late to undo it now.

"Wrap him up to go." Dr. House said, and hung up the phone. Eric was still contemplating what his cryptic response meant when Dr. Wilson held out a hand. Without thinking, Eric took it automatically.

"Congratulations." Dr. Wilson said warmly. Dr. Cuddy shook his hand, too, and walked around the desk. Eric rose to his feet quickly, and moved forward when she touched his shoulder. She led him out of her office and through the clinic. At the elevators she paused, and Dr. Wilson took his leave.

"I've got appointments to finish up. I'll talk to you later. Congratulations, again, Dr. Foreman."

"Thank you." Eric called as Dr. Wilson bounded up the stairs.

"You did very well." Dr. Cuddy told him as she pressed the elevator call button. "I thought I'd show you around upstairs, and then give you some time to think about your decision."

Eric felt stunned; he'd felt that way since Dr. House had hung up the phone and he couldn't stop himself from blurting out the first question that came to his mind.

"Does that mean I have the job?" he asked in a rush, and felt his nervousness skitter away when Dr. Cuddy laughed out loud.

"Yes. You have Dr. House's seal of approval, so to speak." She told him warmly.

"Then I don't need to take any time to think about it." Eric said firmly. "I want the position."

"Are you sure?" Cuddy asked skeptically. "You might want to meet with his other fellows, make sure that—"

"I want it." Eric said firmly. "I've wanted it since the position was posted."

Dr. Cuddy still stared at him as the elevator doors opened, and her eyes never left his when they both stepped inside and the doors closed. Her finger hovered above the floor buttons, and when she spoke she was as serious as he'd ever seen anyone.

"Gregory House is a brilliant diagnostician. His ability to piece together events and symptoms to come up with a cohesive diagnosis is second to none. He will stop at nothing to get the answer—heedless of the cost to himself and everyone around him. He will push you to be the best you can be, and will accept nothing less."

"I understand." Eric said softly.

"This isn't a job, Dr. Foreman. It's a life. Your life will forever be changed from this day forward." She told him sternly. "If you want this job, you need to know that your life will never be the same again."

"I want it." Eric insisted, and Dr. Cuddy shook her head at his stubbornness. She pushed a button then; for the second floor instead of the fourth, and when the doors opened she shooed him out, alone. "You'll need to take yourself down to HR, down at the end of the hall on the right."

"They know I'm coming?" Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They always recognize a new diagnostics fellow by the swagger." Cuddy promised, and Eric fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Fill out the paperwork, then stop by the lab. Come by my office when you're done." She ordered, and he nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I was wrong. I have more than a chapter left on this puppy. So now I'm going to leave it open ended. I do have another update for RS waiting in the wings, and blew the dust off Accreditation. Thanks to all who asked about updates--and for hanging in there with me!

His weekend had been short; almost too short, but he'd made the best of it. He'd shuffled through the closest store lobby for local apartment guides and wandered into a nearby Applebee's for a quick dinner before hailing a cab to take him back to his hotel. A quick perusal of the apartment guide over dinner had given him enough of an idea of the area, and he'd spent the rest of the weekend searching for the right place. Close enough to the hospital to be available, far enough that he was out of reach of drunken frat parties. Just in case. He'd taken a cab to the closest mall and picked up a few extra suits and ties and shirts; given that most of his stuff was still in his apartment, he had a feeling he'd need a few things to tide him over. An upgrade to his hotel room yielded him a little suite with a fridge, and he'd returned to the store for a few bare essentials like milk, juice and cereal. He'd dropped his suits off to be laundered by the hotel staff before resuming his apartment search. Somewhere between his endless queries and a parade of infomercials he drifted off to sleep in the darkest watch of the night.

After a restless night filled with snatches of wakefulness and intermittent dozing, Monday morning dawned bright and early. Awakened by the shrill beeping of his cell phone, he sat up sharply and scrambled to find it was only his pre-set alarm rather than a page.

Old habits died hard after residency.

Sitting up stiffly, he leaned over to turn the lamp on and squinted into the light as he fumbled for the tv remote. The sound was deafening when he turned it on, and he hastily lowered the volume before sighing in relief. Peering into the penetrating glare of the screen, he could see it was only 6:30 according to the digital readout in the lower right hand corner. He leaned back into the pillows, half-asleep as he listened to all of the local news and part of the weather forecast before sliding out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. Half an hour later he emerged, showered, shaved and dressed in his Hugo Boss suit. Sans car for the foreseeable future, he called for a cab to pick him up before pouring himself a bowl of cereal and plowing through it quickly with one eye on the clock. With breakfast remnants in the trash, his teeth brushed and suit jacket donned; he left his hotel room and jogged lightly down the stairs and out into the lobby. Sliding into the cab he issued his directions quickly; relieved to find traffic was relatively light despite the hour. The hospital's high glass windows reflected the rising sun brilliantly; the light was dazzling when he pressed a ten into the cab driver's outstretched hand and stepped out onto the curb. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes against the red-orange glow of sunlight and waited, expectantly, for a chorus of angels or a beam of light to fall from heaven and light the hospital in a surreal glow. This was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be here. He had nothing to be nervous about. Nothing to worry about. Dr. House had chosen the right candidate for the right job. Sighing, he shook his head, smiling, and opened his eyes. There was no hallelujah chorus. No radiant light from Heaven above. Only the sound of cars from the nearby parking garage and the faint whoosh of the automatic doors. Somewhere on campus, a clock tower began to ring out the eight o'clock hour.

It was time.

Striding into the hospital, he crossed to the elevator and stepped inside confidently. A short stop at HR to obtain his hospital ID, and he'd be on his way to the fourth floor to meet Dr. House for the first time. Moving steadily through the crowd on the second floor, he paused to pick up his badge. He let his fingers trail over the glossy plastic of Princeton-Plainsborough's logo with the oak leaves and the red letters proclaiming his name and credentials, and, most importantly; the red lettering proclaiming him a fellow in the Department of Diagnostics. With steady hands he pulled on the white lab coat he'd been given and clipped the badge to his lapel. Beaming, he smoothed the invisible wrinkles and gave the HR gal a subtle nod. She turned away then, and he did the same; moving out into the hallway and back into the elevator. He reached for the floor button; expectantly pressing it and relishing in the expectant ding as the doors slid closed. The floor beneath him rocked briefly on acceleration and once again as it slowed, and then opened. Holding his breath, he stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor. It was obviously of newer construction than other parts of the hospital and he admired the open and airy feel the glass windows and walls gave the entire wing. He walked slowly forward; noting the oncology wing just down the hall to the left, and the expanse of windows that ran along the main wall straight in front of him. The closest bay of windows was actually a small but well appointed conference room and Eric felt his heart leap when he realized it was actually the diagnostics lounge itself right in front of him. Smiling slightly, he turned and crossed to the door and pulled it open expectantly.

But it wasn't Dr. House who greeted him. Dr. House's two fellows—Dr. Chase and Dr. Cameron—were seated inside, and both gave him incredulous looks of surprise as he stepped inside. Holding a hand out to Dr. Cameron first, and then to Dr. Chase; he introduced himself. Dr. Cameron—Allison Cameron, as she responded—looked far less surprised than Chase, but her surprise lingered well beyond what he imagined it would.

"I can't believe he finally hired again." Dr. Chase finally said into the silence, chewing absently on a coffee stirrer. His accent was thick and pleasantly surprising; Eric hadn't realized Dr. Rowan Chase was Australian. It was mildly interesting. "I mean, he wasn't even here on Friday."

Eric felt his bravado waning a bit; Dr. House hadn't even come in on Friday? It wasn't surprising, he supposed. Dr. Cuddy's explanation sounded as though he'd had a bad day, pain-wise. And he'd still done a phone interview. That had to count for something. He spoke then, feeling a need to explain. "Dr. Cuddy said he was having a bad day. I met with Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Wilson—and Dr. House did an interview over the phone. I didn't even know until it was over." He sniffed experimentally, biting his lip sheepishly at Dr. Cameron's amusement as she waved him to the coffee pot.

"Help yourself. We usually take turns stocking the better blends. There's packets from Al's coffee in the drawer, though." She sipped her own mug before cradling it with both hands. Eric rose to his feet and drew a red mug off the shelf and nearly had the mug to the pot when Dr. Chase spoke up. "I'd get another mug." He cautioned. "I doubt House'll show up today, but in case he does—that's his favorite mug."

Eric set it aside hastily, and grabbed another one out of the drying rack. "Thanks, Dr. Chase." He said quietly.

"No problem. And just call me Chase." Chase grinned at him, and set the coffee stirrer aside to stuff a piece of bagel in his mouth.

"So Dr. House was out Friday?"

"And Thursday, last Wednesday and the Friday before that." Chase said sourly.

"I imagine it has to have been pretty rough on him. Coming back from a disability like that." Eric ventured. He topped his mug off with cream and sugar before settling into one of the uncomfortable aluminum chairs around the table. "I imagine the workload must be pretty hard to manage."

"Wouldn't know. We haven't taken a bloody case yet." Chase said bitterly. "We've spent all our time down in the clinic.

Eric felt his heart sink; they hadn't even taken a case yet? It had been over two months since Chase had been hired, and not much longer for Allison Cameron. They hadn't taken a case yet? Eric felt both fellows' eyes on him; he did his best to maintain a neutral expression.

"Oh." He said quietly.

"I think it's been hard for him." Allison Cameron supplied finally. Her earnest gaze was filled with compassion. "I think he's been having problems with his medication for the pain; I think he's been playing with dosages. A couple of times I found him after he'd been sick but was trying to hide it. And then last week—Tuesday—he slipped coming into the lobby. He didn't say anything but he was moving pretty badly. Dr. Wilson thought he might have torn his ACL, but said the MRI didn't show it. He came in on Friday to grab some journals for Dr. House and said he was going to be out for a few days." Allison shrugged, leaning back into her chair absently. She looked up after a moment, and skewered Eric with a piercing look. "He didn't say anything about interviewing, though."

Eric pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He did it over the phone," he explained again," And there were originally three fellowship positions posted online. Only two were filled; so you pretty much had to expect one more person, right?"

"I guess." She said noncommittally. "So what is your specialty?"

"I'm a neurologist—" he started to explain, but fell silent when Allison looked away and focused on something over his shoulder. He turned, surprised, only to find Dr. Wilson pushing open the conference room door.

"Good morning." He greeted as he shoved his hands in his lab coat pockets, leaning casually against the wall. "I wanted to introduce Dr. Foreman, but I see he's already covered that with you. House hired him on Friday, but I'll be stealing him to go over some things. In the meantime—"

"Clinic duty." Chase said quietly. "We know."

"I was going to say House said he'd be back on Wednesday this week. He wants you to go through his charts, Cameron. Get caught up on the backlog. And Chase—yes, clinic duty. Or the NICU. Cuddy said she'd give you a choice." Dr. Wilson gave Chase a sympathetic look—which wasn't well received as the young Australian pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the elevator without uttering another word.

"Well, Foreman, should we get you started?" Dr. Wilson asked kindly, and Eric got to his feet. In keeping with everything he had so far experienced at Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital—he had no idea what would happen next. He felt a thrill of anticipation run up his spine.

"Where are we going?" he asked politely as he fell into step with Dr. Wilson. Standing before the elevator, Dr. Wilson gave him a crooked smile.

"Ever done an upper endoscopy?" he asked cryptically as he stepped into the elevator. Blinking, Eric shook his head.

"No. My residency was in neurology." He confessed, feeling slightly embarrassed. Was he expected to know how to do one? Tamping down the fear that blossomed in his chest_--would he be fired before he even started?--_Eric forced himself to calm down. Dr. Wilson gave him that crooked smile again as he jammed his finger onto the elevator button for the third floor.

"You're about to learn." He said simply.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I have no idea how many chapters are left. This fic gets longer and longer every time I work on it! Many thanks to those who continually read and review-and keep requesting this story be finished. I definitely wouldn't keep working on it without your feedback!

* * *

There was a reason, he mused dryly; that he'd never gone into GI. Or Urology, nephrology, endocrinology, hepatology—or even considered any field but neurology. The human body was disgusting in a lot of ways. Particularly the GI tract. At least for the most part, there weren't too many ways to get your hands into someone's brain. On the way down, Dr. Wilson had filled him in on Dr. House's plans for him for his first day. Observe and participate with GI, the path lab and the radiology department. As they'd walked, Dr. Wilson had explained. Dr. House didn't like 'sloppy seconds' as referring to test results. He liked all new labs, images and procedures. Results could be missed unless the person running the tests was completely open to finding just about anything. Tests could be skewed by the perspective of the person running them. Time lost. Lives lost. Eric readily agreed, and Dr. Wilson escorted him to the second floor and deposited him near the Op wards with a wave to the scrub rooms. Out of instinct, he'd checked the schedule and the name of the attending given to him and groaned to himself. He was late. Hurrying through his scrub, he gowned up with a nurse's help and moved briskly onto the floor. Wrinkling his nose behind the surgical mask, Eric stepped into the second procedure room to find the GI attending, a nurse, and an elderly patient all waiting for him. Introductions were quickly made, and Eric stepped closer to the patient's bedside as the nurse logged into the patient's electronic chart and made a series of notations on the templates.

"Good of you to join us, Dr.-"

"Foreman. Eric Foreman." Eric inclined his head in what he hoped was a friendly way. He made certain his eyes met those of the patient, as well. "I'm sorry to be late, I was not aware I would be observing this morning."

"You're the new Diagnostics fellow?" The GI doctor—Gilbertson-asked quietly. On the other side of the bed, the nurse was speaking to the patient as she readied a syringe. She held it out to Gilbertson; who took it and administered it wordlessly.

"Yes." Eric answered definitively.

"Don't envy you." Gilbertson said. Eric felt his hackles rise; prepared to defend Dr. House's reputation when the control arm of the endoscope was thrust in his face. Feeling his anger melt into confusion, he couldn't stop himself from asking the obvious question.

"What's this?" he asked dumbly.

"Olympus endoscope. TJF-Q180V."

"I mean, why are you-"

Gilbertson sighed, heavily. "House likes his fellows to be hands on. You work for him, you do the dirty work. That means the rest of us do too. Come on, I have a full schedule today."

Feeling shocked, Eric took the scope reflexively. He'd been prepared to observe, not participate. Gilbertson and the nurse together rolled the nurse into the right lateral decubitus position, and Eric silently thanked God that it was an EGD and not a colonoscopy. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and watched as the nurse slid the mouth guard into place. At her nod, and Gilbertson's pointed look—he slid the video end of the scope into the patient's mouth.

As it was his first attempt at an endoscopy, Gilbertson's hands joined his on the scope. Using the video images on the screen, together they gently avoided the trachea and took the scope down the esophagus and into the stomach. Finding nothing there of interest, Gilbertson pressed on into the duodenum. It was here he paused, and Eric waited; relinquishing his hold on the scope to Gilbertson's more experienced hands.

A lesion was centered on the screen; slowly bubbling blood. Gilbertson moved the scope about the duodenal bulb; craning the scope for multiple angles and firing away with the camera on the trigger of the arm. When he finished documenting the images, he motioned Eric to resume his own exploration. Together, they slid the biopsy forceps into the hollow center of the scope and removed several pieces of tissue for pathology. As they were retrieved, the nurse slid each of them into containers and tidily labeled them for the path lab.

Biopsies set aside, Gilbertson nudged Eric with his shoulder. "Normally at this point, I wouldn't ask you what should be done. I'd tell you, and we'd be done. Withdraw the scope and roll the patient into post op. Go onto the next patient. But I know that's not what House wants."

Eric blinked, feeling once again like a first year resident. "What do you mean, what Dr. House wants?"

Gilbertson's expressions were limited only to the exasperation in his voice, and his pencil thin eyebrows above the mask line. But Eric realized he probably didn't need to see the sneer on his face. He felt as though Gilbertson were angry with him instead of Dr. House, and he didn't like the feeling. Particularly when he was unable to distinguish why.

"Bleeding lesion located in the duodenal bulb. Poorly visualized due to the location and size. Biopsies taken to rule out any pathology. What do we do about the lesion, Dr. Foreman?" Gilbertson asked coldly.

Eric felt shocked; all he could conjure was a blank. But then his mind stuttered into gear, and he spoke hesitantly. "60cc of epinephrine to stop the bleeding?"

"That a question?" Gilbertson barked, and Eric felt his anger flare again.

"No." he said more firmly. "60cc epi to stop the bleeding. Did the patient have any other symptoms of GI distress?"

"Positive hemoccult in stool. Family history of colon cancer." Gilbertson wagged his fingers at the nurse as she held out a syringe with the epinephrine. He made note of the dose before injecting it into the scope. Watching the screen intently, Eric passively left his hands on the scope while Gilbertson maneuvered them into position and injected the epi. As they watched, the oozing slowed and stopped over a series of minutes. Apparently satisfied, Gilbertson released the scope and motioned for Eric to withdraw it.

He did so, and set the scope aside for the technicians to take and sterilize. Gilbertson and the nurse returned the patient to her recumbent position; and while the nurse covered the patient and guided them back into recovery, Gilbertson took over the computer and quickly signed out of the patient's chart.

"Come on, Dr. Foreman." he said gruffly. "Dictation room's down the hall."

Eric nodded, snapping his gloves off and removing his mask as Gilbertson did the same. Piercing brown eyes, pencil thin eyebrows. With an ungainly nose set in a thin face; Gilbertson was not a handsome man. He was neither tall nor short; nor fat or thin. He was, Eric decided; absolutely forgettable. He moved deftly down the hall, and Eric studied him intently as he trailed behind. Gilbertson was undoubtedly one of those doctors who ran a successful practice during the day and went home at night to his wife and kids. Played golf. Went to conferences. Enjoyed fishing. He'd probably published a paper or two; occasionally contributed to research. He seemed stalwart in his approach to medicine. And static in his approach to Dr. House.

Opening the door to the dictation room, he escorted Eric in and waved him to a desk beneath a window. The computer was already on, and booted to a particular patient; though Eric could not distinguish between the woman he'd scoped and the name on the screen.

Olson, Mabel J. 10/7/1938.

He remembered the woman's prone form in the bed; the way she had been curled into decubitus; the mousy gray-brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Mabel. Maybe.

Eric shrugged to himself as Gilbertson sat down beside him and held out a can of Coke.

"Thanks." Eric said quietly.

"You do an endoscopy before?" Gilbertson opened his own can before sipping it. Pulling the keyboard tray toward him, he moved from one template into another while he waited for Eric's answer.

"No. I did my residency in neurology."

"Oh, so that explains it. You neuro' guys are always pretty good at procedures."

Eric sipped at his own coke, and slouched back into the hard plastic chair. He smiled then; grateful for the unspoken compliment.

"Thanks."

Gilbertson gave him a sly look. "Don't thank me yet." he said coolly as he moved around in Mabel's chart. Opening the result templates, he clicked a series of radio buttons to autofill the rough margins of the EGD report. He entered Eric's name beneath his own as attending. Sliding the keyboard over, he motioned for Eric to take over.

"Seeing as you did the procedure, you get to dictate. When you're done, come on back and scrub again. Mr. Neil's colonoscopy is scheduled for 10:30. You'll do that with Dr. Weinberg."

Eric hid his distaste behind the can of Coke as Gilbertson gave him a smug look and the disappeared, presumably back to read the case notes for his next procedure. Glancing at his watch, Eric was unsurprised to find it was already five after ten. He'd always marveled at the number of procedures GI managed to do in a day. On average, any procedure involving the brain was a lengthy and complicated process. But the GI docs could punch out close to fifteen endoscopies—both upper and lower—in a day. He'd heard of one doc at Mayo punching out twenty. Seizing the keyboard, he maneuvered back to the admitting notes and briefly read through them before returning to the dictation templates. It wasn't ideal—he felt uneasy about being so thoroughly involved in her care when he'd done little more than move the scope—but he felt confident in choosing his words to reflect his role.

'66 y/o female w/hx of NSAID use presented with acute blood loss anemia. There was a lesion that could not be visualized due to its position in the apex of the bulb which appeared to be the source of her blood loss and melena. This was injected with 60cc of epi and the bleeding had ceased by the end of the procedure.

Recommendations:

Keep NPO in case repeat EGD needed, serial HgB for blood loss and ongoing bleeding. Con't BID PPI, send H pylori IgG and treat if +.'

He studied the screen thoughtfully, re-reading his choice of words carefully. Satisfied, he clicked the template and smiled to himself when the 'Eric Foreman, M.D.' autofilled for his e-signature. Signing out of the templates, he locked the computer.

Throwing back the rest of his Coke, he rose to his feet and made his way back to the procedure rooms in search of Dr. Weinberg. Passing by the schedule listed on the whiteboard, he felt his heart sink at the sheer number of procedures he was signed up to observe.

And participate in.

Gritting his teeth, he crumpled the can with one hand before throwing it into the recycle bin by the door. Five more.

Only five.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: The long awaited conclusion to Fellowship! At last!

When he'd imagined joining Dr. House's team—he'd envisioned himself sitting in a conference room pouring over textbooks and joined in an amiable dialogue between professionals as they struggled to diagnose patients despite their strange presentations and myriad symptoms. Dr. House would be warm and funny; a kindly man who struggled bravely on with his practice in the aftermath of a devastating infarction and debilitating pain. His colleagues would be almost exactly like him; enthusiastic and eager to help in any way they could.

But this.

This wasn't even close.

Monday had found him nearly all day with gastroenterology—performing procedures that he'd sworn to avoid while still in med school. And when he'd finished his five scopes, he'd intended to take his lunch—if he could stomach it—and then wander back up to the Diagnostics conference room. He hoped that either Dr. Chase or Dr. Cameron would be done by then—and he hoped to talk to one or both of them about Dr. House. Had they been asked to do procedures beyond their own specialties? Were they board certified in other areas now? If he was honest with himself—it wasn't only the procedures that had turned his stomach. His malpractice insurance wasn't set up to accommodate procedures outside of his own specialty. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure if there was a policy that would accommodate multiple specialties if they included procedures spanning the medical profession. And if they did have it, he shuddered to think how much the premiums might run.

But lunch was not to be. Dr. Wilson had been waiting for him.

If he remembered correctly—Dr. Wilson was the head of Oncology. Didn't he have an active practice of his own? He had no time to wonder at Dr. Wilson's strange involvement in the affairs of another department; because he'd announced that he was to escort Eric to Cardiology.

Cardiology?

His head had been spinning. He'd been unable—to his chagrin—to pay attention to most of what Dr. Wilson told him. But he'd dutifully gone to Cardiology. He'd gritted his teeth and taken the catheter and threaded some unknown patient's femoral artery. Despite a round of atrial fibrillation, he was happy that the procedure had gone relatively smoothly.

But the final straw had been late in the afternoon when Dr. Wilson had dropped him off in the E.R. with instructions to dig carefully through patients' charts and see if he could find an interesting case. Was this what Diagnostics was like? Really? Or was it just because Dr. House was still out on leave? Unable to bring himself to voice the questions aloud, he'd submitted meekly. Biting his lip, Eric had nodded as he'd slowly reached for the charts on the admitting desk shelf.

"Foreman." Chase began; his thick Australian accent cutting through the chatter of the E.R. effortlessly as he approached the admitting desk. "How was your morning?"

"Fine." He said curtly. Pausing with a small stack of charts, he turned to regard his new colleague thoughtfully. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Chase took a section of the pile and began paging through the charts absently.

"Do—are you licensed to do procedures outside your specialty?"

"Well, no. Not technically."

"Er—" Foreman paused, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. "Do you do procedures outside of your specialty?"

"You have to, mate. Dr. Wilson told you House likes everything shiny and new?" Chase asked rhetorically. Eric sighed in relief; at least he wasn't being singled out.

"Yeah. He did. How do you get around the licensing, then?"

"Easy." Chase tucked three or four folders back onto the shelf before confiscating Eric's pile. "It's a teaching hospital. The only thing we need FDA and AMA approval for is for invasive procedures."

Eric felt his confusion grow. Didn't all procedures count as invasive? His expression must have betrayed his feelings on the matter, for Chase took pity on him and explained further.

"We're still considered medical students—" he held a hand up as Eric opened his mouth to protest; "—and since it's a teaching hospital we have carte blanche to perform all procedures provided we prove competency to our department head's standards. Unless it's experimental, really."

"How did you get all that?" Eric asked in amazement.

"Simple." Chase shrugged. "I asked. Wasn't about to risk my license and be deported. Not even for House. Now, let's go through these cases."

Chase held up their combined stack and led the way back to the elevators. Arriving back on the fourth floor, Eric could see Allison Cameron was already present as well. She smiled cheerfully at them as they walked in, and Chase set the stack of folders down on the table.

"Find anything?" she asked as they seated themselves.

"Not yet. 'Bout to start looking now." Chase dove into the pile.

"What do you think he'll find interesting?" Cameron asked as she took one for herself.

"No idea." Eric murmured quietly. He took two or three charts and opened one. He willed himself to be open to just about anything; he reminded himself that anything mundane could turn out to be wildly exciting. It wouldn't do to pick the wrong chart for Dr. House on their very first case.

"Did Dr. Wilson say when he'd be back?" Eric asked, and Chase nodded.

"He thought he'd be back tomorrow. He said he didn't think he could get him to stay home any longer. Of course, this was around lunch time. Guess it could have changed again." Chase held up a file and began to read aloud. '56-year-old woman presenting with hives and anaphalaxis. Allergen testing came up negative to all the usual suspects."

"You haven't worked a case with him yet, right?" Eric asked, and both Chase and Cameron shook their heads. Sighing in relief, Eric hid a smile. He might have been the newest fellow; but at least he wasn't the only one who didn't know how Dr. House worked.

"He might like the odd presentation, right?" Chase asked aloud.

"Who can say?" Cameron sighed, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "All Dr. Wilson said was to find an interesting case. That could be any of these."

"What about this one?" Eric asked. He put his finger on the chart and traced the symptoms as he read aloud. '45-year-old male presenting with boils on his skull and below his arm pits and in the groin area. Lymph nodes are clean for any primary infection; although lancing the wounds yields copious amounts of pus and blood. Patient reports his condition has been ongoing for nearly twenty years. Multiple visits with infectious disease specialists and dermatologists have not yet revealed a reason for the condition.'

"Gross." Cameron said aloud, even as Chase said; "Cool."

"Okay." Cameron grinned happily. "29-year-old female first suffered a seizure a month ago. Lost her ability to speak; babbled like a baby. Present deterioration of mental status. All tests conducted show pristine CT and MRI, all blood work appears normal."

"Sounds good." Dr. Wilson said suddenly, and all three fellows jumped nervously to find him standing in the doorway.

"Really?" Cameron asked, and Eric exchanged a look with Chase that was somewhere between irritation and amusement.

"Really." Dr. Wilson promised. He stepped into the room and held a hand out for the chart. "I'll give it to him in the morning when he gets here."

Cameron held the chart out for him to take, even as Chase spoke up. "Wouldn't just make more sense for us to give it to him when he gets here?"

"Trust me, it's better if I give it to him for now." He took the chart and gave them a wave. "Good job today, guys. Take it easy tonight. Tomorrow the fun starts."

Eric sat for a long moment; his gaze following Dr. Wilson as he headed back down the hall toward Oncology. Chase broke the silence by gathering up the remaining charts. He rose, clutching the pile and smiled bravely.

"Well, I don't need to be told twice. I'll run these down and then I'm headed home." He paused long enough to grab his briefcase before heading for the door. "G'night."

"Night, Chase." Eric called absently. He, too, got to his feet along with Cameron. They each silently straightened up the conference room before gathering their things and heading for the elevator. He made his way to his car alone; silently replaying Dr. Wilson's words in his head. A week ago; he would have been ecstatic at the prospect of working on his very first case with Dr. House. Now, he only felt a vague sense of disquiet. Thus far, working with Dr. House was like nothing he had ever imagined. The position had already taken him to places he'd never considered.

If he was honest with himself; he'd have admitted they weren't all places he'd wanted to go.


End file.
